The Billionaire’s Forbidden Toy

Chapter 3: The Last Girl

The pen froze in my hand.

For one second, the whole office went silent.

Not ordinary silence.

The kind that crawled under your skin and waits there.

I looked up slowly.

Cassian was staring at Vivienne with a face so still it almost looked calm.

But it wasn’t calm.

I knew that now.

Cassian Voss did not lose control loudly. He did not shout. He did not throw things. He simply went colder, quieter, more dangerous, like the temperature in the room dropped because his patience had left first.

Vivienne’s smile remained perfect.

Painted red.

Pretty as a wound.

I should have asked what she meant.

Any normal woman would have.

But normal women didn’t sign contracts in a billionaire’s office because their mother had seventy-two hours left before a hospital cancelled her procedure.

So instead, I pulled the contract closer and finished writing my name.

Alina Moreau.

My signature looked too small on the expensive paper.

Too human.

Too final.

Then I set the pen down.

“There,” I said, surprised my voice came out steady. “Now your former fiancée can stop auditioning for the role of warning sign.”

Vivienne’s eyes sharpened.

Good.

If she wanted soft and intimidated, she had picked the wrong poor girl.

Cassian’s gaze shifted to me.

Something passed through his face.

Not amusement.

Not approval.

Something darker.

Like he had not expected me to bleed and bite at the same time.

“You should have asked what she meant,” he said.

I looked at him. “Would you have answered?”

“No.”

“Then I saved us both time.”

Vivienne laughed lightly, but the sound had lost some of its sweetness.

“Oh, I like her,” she said. “She thinks sarcasm is armor.”

I turned to her.

“And you think perfume is a personality.”

Her smile died.

Only for a second.

But I saw it.

Cassian saw it too.

His mouth twitched once.

Barely.

That almost made the whole stupid morning worth it.

Almost.

Vivienne stepped closer, the scent of expensive roses following her like a warning.

“You’re brave,” she said.

“No,” I answered. “I’m tired.”

“That’s worse. Tired girls make desperate choices.”

I held her gaze. “And bitter women mistake warnings for wisdom.”

The room changed.

Vivienne’s eyes flashed.

For the first time, something real cracked through her polished face.

Anger.

Good.

I preferred anger.

Anger was honest.

Cassian moved then, not toward me, not toward her, but toward the desk. He picked up the signed contract and placed it inside the black folder with clean, controlled movements.

“Vivienne,” he said, voice low. “Leave.”

She didn’t look at him right away.

When she did, her expression softened into something false and intimate.

“You used to be more polite when dismissing me.”

“You used to know when to stop speaking.”

That hit.

I felt it.

So did she.

Her face tightened before she hid it behind another smile.

“Careful, Cassian. If you keep collecting pretty broken girls, people will start asking what you do with them.”

My stomach turned.

Cassian did not react.

That was worse.

Because he should have.

A denial.

A warning.

Anything.

Instead, he only looked at her.

“Out.”

One word.

The door behind me suddenly felt very far away.

Vivienne picked up her small red clutch and turned toward the elevator. As she passed me, she leaned close enough that only I could hear her.

“Ask him about Celeste.”

Then she walked away.

The elevator doors opened.

Closed.

And she was gone.

But the name stayed.

Celeste.

Soft.

Pretty.

Terrifying.

I turned back to Cassian.

“Who is Celeste?”

“No one you need to know.”

I laughed once.

It sounded wrong.

“That is exactly what men say when women absolutely need to know.”

His eyes met mine. “This arrangement does not include my past.”

“It includes me standing beside you while women from your past walk in and threaten me.”

“She didn’t threaten you.”

“She did it politely. Rich women do everything politely.”

Cassian moved around the desk, took out another paper from a drawer, and handed it to me.

“What is this?”

“Your first payment authorization.”

My anger stumbled.

I looked down.

The amount made my throat close.

It was enough.

Not forever.

Not for every bill.

But enough for the deposit.

Enough for my mother’s procedure.

Enough to let me breathe for the first time in weeks.

I hated that my eyes burned.

Cassian noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything I did not want seen.

“You’ll receive it today,” he said.

My fingers tightened around the paper. “Before I do anything?”

“You signed.”

“That’s enough?”

“For now.”

I looked at him, suspicion pushing through the sudden relief.

“Why?”

His expression didn’t change. “Because I don’t like debts hanging over what belongs to me.”

The warmth drained out of me.

“What belongs to you?”

The room went still.

Cassian’s jaw tightened once.

There.

A mistake.

His first.

I stepped closer to his desk.

“Let me make something clear, Mr. Voss. You bought my time. My presence. My attendance at your expensive little events. That is all.”

His eyes darkened.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

He came around the desk slowly.

I should have stepped back.

I didn’t.

Stubbornness was not always intelligence. Sometimes it was just fear refusing to kneel.

Cassian stopped in front of me, close enough that the air between us turned thin.

“You should be careful with absolutes,” he said.

“And you should be careful with possession.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

Just once.

Just enough.

My breath caught, and I hated myself instantly for it.

He saw that too.

The corner of his mouth moved.

“You respond before you think.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“Maybe you imagine things because women usually perform for you.”

His eyes lifted back to mine.

“No,” he said softly. “Women usually obey me.”

Heat moved through my body so fast I nearly lost my anger.

Nearly.

“What a tragedy for you.”

His almost-smile returned.

“Perhaps.”

The word slid over me.

Slow.

Dangerous.

The office suddenly felt too high, too private, too far from every sensible choice I had ever made.

I took one step back.

Cassian let me.

That was somehow more unsettling than if he hadn’t.

“You start tonight,” he said.

I blinked. “Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I thought this was just a meeting.”

“It was. Now it’s done.”

“I have another shift.”

“Cancelled.”

My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I bought out your schedule for the week.”

“You did what?”

“Your employer has been compensated.”

I stared at him.

“You can’t just rearrange my life.”

“I can. The question is whether you’ll let me.”

That made something hot and furious rise in my chest.

“No.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“No?”

“No. You don’t get to call my boss, clear my schedule, send money to my hospital, and then stand there like I should thank you for removing my choices.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he looked at me in a way that made my skin prickle.

Not angry.

Focused.

Like I had become interesting all over again.

“You wanted the money.”

“I wanted help. Not ownership.”

“You signed a contract.”

“I signed a contract to work. Not to be managed like one of your hotels.”

The silence after that was sharp enough to cut.

Then Cassian reached for his phone.

I stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Restoring your schedule.”

That stopped me.

“What?”

“You said you wanted the choice.”

“I do.”

“Then choose.”

He held the phone out to me, screen glowing with my event manager’s contact already pulled up.

My pulse skipped.

I looked at the phone.

Then at him.

It was a trick.

It had to be.

Men like Cassian did not simply hand choices back after taking them.

But he stood there, silent and unreadable, waiting.

I hated how badly that unsettled me.

Because power was one thing.

A man who knew when to loosen his grip was much more dangerous.

I did not take the phone.

My voice came quieter. “What happens tonight?”

“A private dinner.”

“With who?”

“Investors. Rivals. People who need to believe I’m distracted.”

“And I’m the distraction.”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“Not always.”

The answer landed strangely.

I studied him.

His face gave me nothing.

“Why do they need to believe you’re distracted?”

“Because people reveal more when they think a man’s attention is elsewhere.”

“And you want them looking at me.”

“Yes.”

My stomach tightened.

“And what do I get besides money?”

His eyes held mine. “Training.”

The word should not have affected me.

It did.

My throat went dry. “Training?”

“How to enter a room like you own it. How to smile without giving anything away. How to listen when powerful men forget pretty women have ears. How to use what people assume about you before they use it first.”

I stared at him.

That was not what I expected.

I had imagined something uglier.

Simpler.

But this?

This sounded like power dressed as sin.

“And in return?” I asked.

“You play your part.”

“As your what?”

A pause.

His gaze did not move.

“My forbidden choice.”

The words pressed against my skin.

I hated that I liked them better than toy.

I hated that he probably knew it.

Before I could answer, the office door opened.

Elias stepped in, calm as ever, holding a tablet.

“Apologies,” he said, though he did not look apologetic. “The payment to Fairmont Medical has been processed.”

My knees almost gave.

Processed.

Just like that.

My mother’s procedure was safe.

The thing that had been crushing my chest for weeks had been lifted in one sentence.

I turned away fast, pretending to look at the windows.

The city blurred.

I refused to cry in front of Cassian Voss.

Absolutely refused.

Tessa would never let me live it down.

Cassian’s voice came from behind me, quieter now.

“Leave us, Elias.”

The door closed.

I blinked hard.

Once.

Twice.

When I turned back, Cassian was not as close as before.

That surprised me.

He had given me space.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

“Thank you,” I said, the words scraping my pride on the way out.

He looked at me for a long second.

“You can hate me and still accept what I did.”

“I don’t hate you.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Liar.”

I looked away.

Maybe I did hate him.

Maybe I didn’t.

Maybe what I hated was that relief could feel so much like gratitude, and gratitude could become another kind of chain if you weren’t careful.

“My friend is waiting downstairs,” I said.

“The loud one.”

“The loyal one.”

His expression shifted slightly.

Something unreadable.

“You trust her.”

“With my life.”

“That is rare.”

“That is sad.”

His eyes met mine.

For a second, the office softened in a way neither of us had permitted.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, and whatever small opening had appeared vanished.

“Go home,” he said. “Rest. A car will collect you at seven.”

“I can take a bus.”

“The car will collect you at seven.”

I opened my mouth.

His gaze lifted.

“Choose your battles, Alina.”

I should have argued.

I wanted to.

But my body was suddenly tired from not sleeping, not crying, not breaking, and not admitting that I had just stepped into something much bigger than a private dinner.

So I took the payment authorization, the copy of the contract, and what little dignity I had left.

At the elevator, I paused.

“Cassian.”

He looked up.

“Who was Celeste?”

The office went cold.

Not because the air changed.

Because he did.

Every part of him shut down so completely it felt like watching steel doors close one after another.

For the first time since I met him, I saw something behind his control.

Not guilt exactly.

Not fear.

Pain.

Old.

Buried.

Violent.

Then it was gone.

“Ask me that again,” he said, voice quiet, “and our arrangement ends.”

My fingers tightened around the contract.

That should have scared me enough to stop.

It did.

But curiosity had already opened its mouth.

And once I knew a secret existed, leaving it alone felt impossible.

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped inside.

Just before they closed, Cassian spoke again.

“Alina.”

I looked at him.

His face was unreadable now.

Completely.

“Tonight, whatever you hear, whatever anyone says to you, remember one thing.”

“What?”

His eyes held mine.

“Everyone in that room will lie beautifully.”

The doors slid shut.

Downstairs, Tessa was waiting exactly where I had left her, pacing the lobby like a furious guardian angel.

The second she saw me, she grabbed my arms.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“He paid the hospital.”

Her mouth fell open.

“What?”

“He paid it.”

For once in her life, Tessa had no immediate response.

Then she pulled me into a hug so hard I almost dropped the folder.

I held onto her and let myself breathe.

For three seconds.

Only three.

Then her body went stiff.

“Alina,” she whispered.

“What?”

She pulled back slowly, eyes fixed over my shoulder.

I turned.

Across the lobby, near the glass doors, stood a woman.

Not Vivienne.

This woman was younger. Pale. Thin. Dressed in a beige coat despite the warm day. Her eyes were fixed on me like she had been waiting.

In her hand was a folded note.

Before security could stop her, she rushed forward and shoved it into my palm.

“Don’t go tonight,” she whispered.

Then she ran.

Tessa shouted after her, but the woman disappeared through the revolving doors and into the street.

My heart hammered.

Slowly, I opened the note.

There were only six words written inside.

Messy.

Hard.

Terrified.

Celeste went with him and vanished.